Mother Mallard
by Mele
Summary: Missing scene, sort of, for when Victoria Mallard died. Somewhere season 6


**_Disclaimer, author's notes, etc_**_: I don't own NCIS and I don't make any money off my stories, so please do not sue me. I have NO idea why this popped into my head today, but I had to get it out of there. Basically the last day of Ducky's mom. Yeah, I guess I've been depressed a bit. _

**Mother Mallard**

**By Mele**

The room was cheery and spacious, the view outside the window showed an expanse of well-manicured landscape, currently blanketed in a white mantle of snow this February morning. Dr. Mallard approached the bed with an uneasy mix of affection and reluctance, as always worried as to how he'd find her at any given time. The frail figure on the narrow bed stirred and the well beloved face turned toward him, brightening immediately.

"Donald! You've come to rescue me at last," Victoria Mallard exclaimed, raising one narrow, shaking hand toward her son. "And not a moment too soon. I do believe they've absconded with my good silverware. Not that cheap stuff your father's family gave me, but the sterling silver set my great-great-grandmother bought and passed down to us. It's so hard to find good help these days. Be a good boy and pour me a drink while we await the constables." Her body was heartbreakingly weak, but her voice still commanded him.

Ducky obediently poured a glass of water, putting some ice and a light sprinkle of instant ice tea mix in it. Most days it was enough to convince her she was having her evening 'nightcap', and today was no different, even though it was only eleven in the morning. Whenever possible he – and the staff – let her believe her requests were being fulfilled. Given her age and her condition there really was no valid reason to try and enforce reality on her. It wasn't like she was going to recover from being over ninety years old.

"How are you feeling today, Mother, cutlery larceny aside? Have you eaten?" he asked gently, taking his customary seat on the comfortable chair at her bedside. It appeared this was a 'good' day, with at least part of her existing in the present and functioning. On the 'bad' days she no longer recognized her only child.

"The service here is top notch, but what they called breakfast is not to be tolerated. Scrambled eggs and some tasteless toast. No link sausage, no kippers, no tattie scone, and – you won't believe this – no proper porridge! Disgraceful!" she exclaimed, holding his hand.

"Well, Mother, we're not in Scotland anymore, and allowances must be made. Did you actually eat what they brought you?"

"Of course. They may not know what a proper breakfast is, but I have not forgotten my manners. Nor should you have, Donald. You've not forgotten how to be properly respectful and polite, have you?" she demanded with a searching look.

He patted the frail hand he held gently. "No, Mother. You taught me well."

"Where's my grandson?" she asked abruptly, looking about the room as if she suspected he was hiding somewhere.

"Uh, Mother, what grandson?" Ducky countered gently, speaking as soothingly as possible.

"You know. Your son. Leonard, I think his name is. He followed you into the family business, cooking for the government. I visited your kitchen a few times….it's in the basement, I recall…" she trailed off with a puzzled look. "Do you cook people?"

"Oh, uh…no, Mother, cooking people isn't legal, even here. And Jimmy wasn't able to come today, though he sends his regards as always. He always asks after you." It was a true enough statement.

"He seems a good boy. Does he know how to make a tattie scone? I've got such a hankering for one. Your grandmother was a master at making them. I never could quite live up to her standards of cooking it seemed. And you….you were hopeless," Victoria fretted, pulling at the bedcovers restlessly.

"I doubt Jimmy knows much traditional Scottish cooking, but of course I will ask. He's a young man of unexpected abilities," Donald soothed her.

"I'm not feeling up to a ride or visits today," the elderly lady announced in her querulous voice, her mood shifting again. "Perhaps some of the telly or a story would make it easier for me to sleep. I'm awful tired today for some reason," she said.

"I've just the thing, Mother. Shall we continue with the adventures of Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy?" he asked gently, pulling the thick paperback out of the bedside table drawer. "When we left off Meg was about to marry John Brooke," he added, opening to the bookmarked page. She nodded happily settling back in the bed and closing her eyes, a slight smile of contentment on her face as Ducky opened the well worn copy of Little Women and began to read.

It took less than a chapter for her to nod off and Dr. Mallard closed the book gently, studying his mother's face as she slept. He unconsciously fondled the tome in his hands, his thoughts going back to the days, so long ago, when she would read to him in the evening in an attempt to get her only son to settle into sleep. The choices were perhaps a bit counter productive. Stories of Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works, The Hardy Boys. Adventurers and mystery solvers all. He'd not really considered that his Scottish born mother had chosen English and American books to entertain her offspring. Perhaps it had fulfilled some need she had, he pondered, a soft smile on his face.

He found a degree of comfort in being able to return the favor now. He knew her favorite childhood book had been Little Women; she had seen every single movie and TV adaptation. These days hearing the familiar story settled her and allowed her a greater measure of peace than anything else seemed to.

For so long it had been just the two of them. His father lost his fight with cancer five months after the diagnosis when Donald was just fifteen. Even before that, though, the career military man had been at best a sporadic presence in his son's life. Mother, though, she'd been there always. She would often wake him early on a Saturday morning during his childhood and advise him to dress warmly – or not so warmly, depending on the season – then they would grab a train out of Aberdeen to wherever her fancy decided. They'd spend the day exploring the town or city or village she'd selected, and then head back home again with new memories and new experiences to savor.

In those days Victoria Mallard was a woman of great presence. With a quick mind and a sharp tongue; a sense of wonder and adventure and a thirst for knowledge. She'd just look down at her small son and say, "We're off on a new adventure, Donald." She laughed easily, and spoke her mind freely.

When Donald grew old enough to strike out on his own, she 'untied' the apron strings willingly, sending her one 'chick' out into the world to make his own mark. She encouraged his plans and aspirations, never doubting he could accomplish anything he set out to do.

As for her, she found herself no longer a mother nor a wife, so she gave her sense of adventure free reign. She'd not lied to Abby about swimming with the hippos, that safari had been but one highlight in a life of adventure. Skiing, mountain climbing, safaris, and expeditions of all kinds. She saw the world at its best and at its worst and accepted it all.

But time and age finally caught up with her, and one day she found she craved a home and a routine and a sense of normalcy and stability. Donald was in DC by then, so she took her not inconsiderable inheritance and purchased a huge home, secretly hoping that Donald was ready to settle down and fill it with a wife and children. Seems she'd missed the mark on that one, and eventually a trio of Corgis had to do as a substitute.

As the years passed, her circle of friends narrowed. The vast assortment of maladies that assail people in their 70's and 80's took them one by one, until finally there was only Morna. Lovely Morna who was two years younger than Victoria, and had never left Scotland. They had met in elementary school and the friendship had managed to survive for over seven decades, until a bout of pneumonia took Morna in the fall of 2007. Now for over two years Victoria had been the last of her group, a sole survivor slowly sinking into the muddy waters of dementia.

Ducky stood and stretched, wandering over to the large window to admire the peaceful scene outside. He came at least three times a week, more if work was slow. When he'd admitted Victoria they'd both signed a 'do not resuscitate' order, and all he asked was that she be kept safe and as content as possible. The facility and staff had performed admirably.

Her doctor had informed him of what he had already surmised; she didn't have much longer. Her bad days outnumbered the good at least two to one, and on the bad days she could not be prevailed upon to eat at all. Her body had shrunk alarmingly, despite the concentrated efforts to get nourishment into her on the good days. Both Ducky and Dr. Daniels suspected she might have a cancer or leukemia issue, but under the circumstances had decided not to pursue it aggressively. As long as she was not in pain it was best to let nature take its course, she'd had an amazing and long life. Few were as lucky as she had been. But knowing this, accepting this, did not lessen the pain of her impending death.

"Donald?"

Her voice interrupted his reverie. "Mother? Is something wrong?" he asked gently, coming to the side of her bed and taking her hand.

"You've been a wonderful son, I'm very proud of you and all you've done. The people you've helped, the lives you've helped save. Just do your old mother one favor? Be happy. Whatever it is that will accomplish that, be happy. And know that I've been happy as well…." Her faint voice trailed off as her free hand suddenly clutched at her chest.

"Mother!" he dropped her hand and hurried to the doorway, calling for assistance as soon as he had the door open. A nurse hurried in, stethoscope at the ready while another hastily paged the physician on duty. A flurry of activity filled the formerly peaceful room, and Ducky watched it all with an odd detachment.

Dr. Richards called the DOD ten minutes later, giving Dr. Mallard a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but she's gone. We should all be so lucky to go so peacefully," he said in his deep voice. "We'll give you a minute." Slowly the doctor and nurses filed out, the younger nurse sniffling a little.

For the last time Donald Mallard stood by his mother's bedside, holding one birdlike hand in his. They'd closed her eyes, she appeared only to be deeply asleep. But years of working on the deceased made Ducky impossible to fool. There was a slight difference, a barely discernable distinction between holding the hand of a living being and one whose life had just ended. Ducky had no illusions: his mother had died.

"Thank you, Mother, for giving me life, for giving me my freedom, for instilling in me a sense of the possibilities this life holds for us all. I'm so sorry the last few years were so confusing, and I apologize if I wasn't always as patient as I should have been. But, know this; I never stopped loving you, and I've never been less than overwhelmingly proud to have been your son."

He turned away, taking one last look around the room, noticing the pictures on the nearby dresser, the cards tacked on the wall, the rarely used robe hanging on the bathroom door. He knew someone here would box it all up for him, for which he was grateful. For now all he wanted to do was head home, brew a strong cup of tea and remember his mother at her best.

NCISNCISNCIS

"Dr. Mallard, welcome back! The reports on Private Sullivan are on your desk for review. How was your visit with Victoria? How's she doing?" Jimmy Palmer asked, all cheerful energy when Ducky walked into Autopsy.

He'd though long and hard about it, and decided that for now it would be best to keep his pain to himself. No one who really knew his mother, at least not the mother he chose to remember. He had quietly and efficiently ordered her burial, requesting no announcement and no ceremony. Who would actually attend for Victoria? No one. All of those who knew the real Victoria had already died. There were those who would attend for Ducky, but he felt no need for that. It was over and done, no sense dwelling on the matter. Time to move on, as it were. He knew it would work fine. With at least 99% of his valued friends. Here he was facing the 1%.

"Mr. Palmer, please come, sit down. Let's have a bit of a staff meeting, so to speak," Dr. Mallard invited, pulling up a chair by his desk.

"What did I do this time?" Jimmy asked, his complexion paling just a bit.

"I don't know. What did you do?" Ducky countered, giving his assistant as searching look.

"I can't think of anything," Jimmy replied honestly, getting more confused by the moment.

"Mr. Palmer, if I take you into my confidence, can I trust you to keep the matter to yourself?" Dr. Mallard asked sternly.

"Absolutely, Dr. Most of what we do here is confidential, and I've never betrayed that," the younger man replied in all seriousness.

"True. Okay, here it is. Mother died yesterday. I am not going to have a service for her, and for now I don't want anyone but the two of us to know of her passing," Ducky told him.

Jimmy had gasped and moisture filled his eyes and he reached out and squeezed Ducky's hand. "I'm so sorry." He said quietly.

"Thank you, Jimmy. As you know it was hardly unexpected."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," the assistant ME countered, wiping his eyes and sighing. "I wish I could have met her….before. I bet she was amazing."

"She was. And she had a good, long life. We should all be so lucky. I just….need some time, before I talk to the others. And beyond this conversation, talk of her to you, even. Can you honor that?"

"I can." Jimmy's face was atypically serious.

"Thank you, lad. Now, it appears I have a report to read, and you have an ME van to inventory," he added, handing over a clipboard and ignoring Jimmy's theatrical moan.

"Life goes on."

The end


End file.
